


Steadfast

by eveshka



Series: The Dawn King Cycle [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Final Fantasy XV - Freeform, Final Fantasy XV: Kingsglaive - Freeform, Gen, The Dawn King Cycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2018-12-27 05:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12074448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eveshka/pseuds/eveshka
Summary: Sometimes a man lived through things he shouldn't.This is the story of just such a man.From storyteller to refugee, what makes a man a Kingsglaive.And then what breaks him.





	1. Origin

**Author's Note:**

> Because you loved him.

Cair lived in the quiet fishing village of Kahd, in the archipelago far to the Northeast of Insomnia, past Galahd. He was a tall man, dark of skin and fair of wit, a fine caster of nets and as strong a swimmer there ever lived. He was a fair fighter, too, for when the shells called of sahagin sightings, he grabbed his spears and not once looked back.

The women loved him, but his eyes were only for his heart’s chosen: Ahn.

 

Ahn was a man of equally sun-deepened skin and laughter, long hair braided into the traditional patterns of a story-singer, woven tight at the scalp and knotted loose at intervals, shells and bits tied here and there to record the stories he told.

When the story was told and woven true, he sang to the sea as his hair was cut, the braids and knots tied into his hair offered to Leviathan in tribute, for the Kahd believed that as long as the story-singers had good stories to tell, the Goddess would grant them peace and stay from their waters.

 

The story-singers sang to the fish during harvest, thanking them for filling the fisher’s nets, and singing praises to the silver lives that gave of their essence so that the Kahd could live and serve the land.

They sang fierce war chants when the sahagin rose from the depths to slip in though the night and make off with young children that had not stayed in bed, the songs and chants working with the drummers to tell the warriors how to fight and to keep their spirits high.

And they sang songs of sorrow when the Empire came and brought war to the village, singing the souls of their dead back into the cycle and on to the next life that awaited them.

 

But Ahn did not sing.

When the Empire withdrew and the waters were calm, his voice broke with his heart when he found Cair dead on the sand. Silent, Ahn took up Cair’s dagger and raked it though his hair. He threw the unfinished story-weaving into the sand, took refuge on a boat from Galahd, and never once looked back as they left.

 

In Galahd, Ahn was silent, withdrawn. A story-singer was of little value to the boisterous Galahd with their strange drums and melodic flutes, and a man with no voice was worth even less. He lived on the street with only his wit and Cair’s dagger, and rarely ate or slept well.

In time, Ahn stole from the wrong people and in his madcap flight, drew the attention of a duo of troublemakers. One was a witty young man with a way with words that could turn heads, and the other, a younger man who didn’t quite seem to be the type to tag along, but kept up anyway.

They were Nyx and Libertus by name, and together they took in the silent Kahd, feeding him, sheltering him and eventually giving him words again in the way that only understanding companionship could. Ahn did not sing, but within the year, he was almost a new man.

And then the Empire came back to the archipelago, raining fire on the remnants of Kahd and decimating Galahd.

 

Forces from Insomnia arrived, and those who survived the battle were taken back as refugees with all the stigma the word entailed. Separated from his newfound friends, Ahn found himself once again on the streets with little hope.

While Galahd and Kahd had spoken similar languages, Insomnia was the Crown City of Lucis, and the language had evolved separately as the Lucian Kings had formed it. Ahn was truly lost, for Insomnia had little love for those who weren’t hers… and Ahn had little chance of being taken as Lucian.

He resigned himself to scraps and sleeping in secluded places where the wealthy Lucians would not walk, dark parts of the outskirts of the City, shadowed by the stone wall, though as close to the marketplaces as he could be, for the food thrown away was all he could eat.

 

It was there that he met a girl from the streets, a pale and thin thing with long tangled dark hair and deep brown eyes that spoke of pain when she wasn’t busy throwing the world back at itself and laughing while she did so.

She spoke of friends, young men who had come from other places to live in Insomnia and make a life for themselves at the King’s command. Eventually she introduced him to two familiar faces and Ahn, Nyx, and Libertus embraced as long lost brothers.

The next day, Ahn and Crowe signed up to join the Kingsglaive, each determined to catch up with their friends, and in two short months, they had.

Training was fierce and intense, but Crowe and Ahn had proven they were well up to the challenge. Crowe, by virtue of being an orphan and fending for herself on the streets. Ahn, by virtue of the thought that the Empire had failed to kill him twice, what could magic do? Turned out, quite a lot.

Crowe was far better at magic than most others. Ahn wasn’t bad at it, but he didn’t have her finesse. His shields were unparalleled, however, born of his new heart’s desire to protect and guard.

 

In training, everyone wanted Ahn at their side, for they knew his shields would defend against whatever was thrown at them. His nickname was Steadfast, and common belief was that if the King had met Ahn before Clarus Amicitia, Ahn would be the Shield.

Ahn made sure to play that down, but while he knew his shields were good, he firmly believed they needed to be better. They always needed to be better.

The Empire was coming.

 

As the months passed, he fell distant from his friends, so focused on strengthening his shields and becoming the best at what he could do, he didn’t notice when Crowe was whisked away to learn more intricate spellcrafting and Nyx earned his crest and then a banner.

He missed it when Libertus earned his crest, and almost didn’t make it to the announcement of the newest inductees (wherein he was named) because he’d lost track of time while walking along inside his own shield, inspecting it for weaknesses.

When she got her crest, Crowe kept her name.

Ahn had chosen for himself a different name, one that sounded far more Lucian and signified his new life as a member of the Kingsglaive as steadfast. His surname was lifted from an ancient text.

And so Ahn the story-singer from Kahd at last knew peace.

But Stasios Teleon? Well, _his_ life had just begun.


	2. Mistake

“Hey, Steadfast!” The voice carried across the hallway, making the intended recipient pause in his hurry through the throng of men. Warm brown eyes met blues, and a smile burst across the man’s face.

“Nyx, you clever creature, where have you been hiding? Crowe’s out for blood; I hear you lost the game last night and cut out on paying for your round.”

“I wouldn't have had to cut out if someone hadn't gone out over the wall.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, care to explain that stunt?”

“Not particularly?”

Nyx grabbed Stasios by the arm and spun him to a stop. “Look Steadfast, I get it. You’ve got your own secrets and I get the whole shielding thing. But you’ve got to stop running headlong into danger.”

Stasios couldn’t quite help the snort. “You’re one to lecture, all things considered.”

“The difference between you and me, friend, is I run in to replace someone. Your dumb ass just walks right out into it.”

 

The trouble, Stasios reflected later, was that Nyx wasn’t wrong. Stasios _did_ treat the idea of danger with a sort of passing thought.

Frowning over that idea, Stasios walked into the library, collected the books he’d requested from the desk, and settled into a chair next to a brunette woman.

“Lici…” he started, without preamble, “do I have a death wish?”

 

Licinia Ferrae, a fierce fighter who almost resented her commission in the Kingsglaive (she’d wanted Crownsguard but that honor had gone to Monica,) didn’t look up from her book. “We’re Kingsglaive. Of course we have a death wish.” She set her book to the side and stretched, and then looked to him. “Though, yours does seem to be a bit more fine-tuned than mine. Why do you ask? Mortality catching up with you?”

“No, just something Ulric said to me today. Made me start thinking about it.” He sorted through the books, finding the one he wanted first and pushed the others to the side.

“Make you a deal, Steadfast. You want to call it quits; you’ll have to fight me for the right. You beat me and I’ll pull the trigger or swing the blade myself. Deal?”

Given that he had yet to beat the woman in hand to hand, Stasios shook his head and chuckled. “Did you get that line from Amicitia?”

“Nope. My mother. And given that I’m smart enough to not try to fight her?”

Stasios was laughing at the thought. He’d met Lici’s mother once. A wiry woman of surprising presence and early greying hair. She’d raised Licinia and four boys on her own after her husband died out near Hammerhead, and Stasios had heard all of Lici’s stories.

 

To his right, across the table, a well-dressed young man with bright green eyes looked up from his book, casting an annoyed glare over his glasses. Stasios nodded, and the youth rose with a vague sort of dismissive hmf, and swept his book and himself off and away from the two Kingsglaive.

“That was interesting… who, pray tell, was that?” Stasios asked, watching the young man depart, back ramrod stiff.

Lici flipped a page in her own book. “Mmm… not sure. He's in here a lot, though. I think he's part of the young prince’s retinue, so try not to piss him off, just in case.”

“If I encounter him again, I will be perfectly circumspect.”

That earned him a snort and a rolling of the eyes. “You sure you know what that means, Steadfast? ‘Cause last I heard, you were second only to Ulric for the title of Troublemaker.”

Stasios sighed with a little extra drama and turned his attention to his book. “Message heard loud and clear, boss. Narrow, but not so straight for me.”

He ignored Licinia’s groan as her head hit her book, and began looking for the passage he'd wanted to look up in earnest.

 

Days later, Stasios was on the wrong side of the wall again.

Nyx was going to kill him. He knew this, but he had to test his theory. He'd read of ancient magics, of people who could sing spells into being. He'd been a story-singer, so if he could do the same…

A figure appeared next to him, fire and ash burning away as the man rounded with anger. “Bahamut’s _balls_ , Teleon, I am dragging your ass back to the Citadel and putting you on latrine duty before Drautos ends us both.”

A hand latched itself to his arm and suddenly the world was replaced by the strangeness of warping, and then they reappeared back in the world. Stasios had enough time to inhale before Nyx threw his kukri and they flashed though the blue warpspace again.

They did this two more times before Nyx shoved Stasios to the side, hands on his thighs, trying to fight off the stasis headache.

Stasios looked around, seeing they were still outside the wall, and turned to Nyx. “You didn't need to risk stasis for me. I shielded getting out here and was planning to connect with some hunters on the way back.”

“They're _dead_ ,” Nyx ground out around the pain. “Galentius spotted the distress flare and we were dispatched to rescue if we could. The last word from one of them was that one of _us_ was out here. Didn't… _Six_ , that hurts. Didn't take much to figure out it was you.”

Dead? The hunter who had told such wonderful jokes as they left the city? The young man who had laughed along with him at those jokes? The woman who thought that fighting in the wilds was the best way to learn how to be strong?

Stasios stood straighter, turning to put his back to the wall of the city. “Where?”

Nyx wheezed, shaking his head. “No. We are going back to the Citadel if I have to knock you out and drag you myself. And I know you don't warp, so you can't get far.”

Stasios’ lips thinned and he drew out his old Khad dagger. He sighted, paused, threw the dagger and _warped_.

 

Much later, he would confess that it had been the dumbest thing he'd ever done. At the time, it proved to be of small value, for the moment he arrived, the battle was on.

The glaives charged with recovery were outnumbered and circled by reapertails. With Stasios’ arrival, they were still outnumbered, but he had the advantage of surprise.

Stasios used it, too, swapping the dagger mid-air for a short lance and landed on a reapertail, driving the lance into its body. Its tail lashed out, and Stasios felt a zing of pain before he used his weight to lean against the lance, tipping the oversized arachnid sideways. It tried to regain its balance by thrashing its tail, but only managed to strike one of the other reapertails in the process.

Chaos erupted and Stasios leapt clear, grinning like a madman. A glaive (Jonstabas?) whooped and leapt on the reapertail that Stasios had stabbed, and that was all the other glaives needed. Blades flashed, voices called commands, and as the last reapertail fell, a hand landed on Stasios’ shoulder.

“I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You.”

Stasios laughed, nodding at Nyx as the slightly shorter man spun him around. “Yes, yes, but not today, my friend. Today, we _live_.” He opened his arms wide, indicating the other glaives who were dusting themselves off and setting uniforms to best rights that they could. He’d been right; Jonstabas was there, and he stepped away from Nyx to bump forearms with the man. “A good fight, my friend. A round on me, in celebration.”

“The only round you’re doing tonight is a round about the latrine, Stasios,” Nyx growled from behind him.

Stasios turned, looking to Nyx in feigned surprise. “Why, look, it’s Ulric. We’ve cleared a nest of reapertails that were terrorizing the area, sir. It’s certainly a cause-“

Nyx was in his face, blue eyes bright against anger-reddened skin. “There is no celebration. You’re battle-drunk and poisoned.” An antidote was slammed against his chest, and Stasios coughed in surprise as the mist dissipated into his lungs.

Sanity flooded in, and Stasios staggered. He’d warped. He’d actually managed to warp. And no small distance, by the looks of it. He’d warped into a battle he hadn’t known was there, and only by the grace of the Six had he not gotten himself killed. Or any of his fellow glaive. Aghast, he met Nyx’s eyes and lowered his shoulders in a sign of defeat. “I apologize and accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate.”

Nyx glowered at him one more heartbeat, and then broke away, calling out to the others. “Back to the Citadel. Make haste, and clean up after. Debrief in two hours.” He turned back to Stasios as the others began warping back to safety. “You’re with me.”

Stasios heard him, but his eyes were no longer for Nyx. Instead, they were fixed on the blooded face of the woman who had wanted to learn to fight for herself. He moved to her, crouching beside her and moving to turn her face to the sky, her eyes open and almost the same shade. It was not his people’s tradition to close the eyes of the dead. “May you find what you seek in the next wave.” He moved her hands to her chest, left flat above her heart, the right below it on her sternum. “And may the waters ever be gentle to the boat of your soul.”

Nyx had fallen still as Stasios moved, and he said nothing when Stasios finally turned back to him, nodding. He stood still, waited for Nyx to get a good grip on his arm, and they warped back to the Citadel in silence.


	3. Realization

Four months later, Stasios had finally been released from latrine duty.

 

It wasn’t because he was exemplary at cleaning toilets. It wasn’t because he’d gotten the task down to an art and had started doing a latrine sweep once every three hours to ensure they remained clean. And it certainly wasn’t because he’d redeemed himself in any sense of the word.

No, it was because a junior member of the trainees had done something so boneheaded that not only had two senior glaives been injured, the Prince had to get involved to save their lives with elixir. And because _that_ had subsequently put the Prince flat on his back for two days, and earned the ire of one Ignis Scientia, as his charge had to miss school and three meetings… Stasios’ days in the latrine were over.

 

He’d signed his release of duties paperwork and then settled down in the mess with his meal when a hand clapped him on the back and a laughing Galentius took a seat beside him. “Ah, fresh air and freedom, my friend. Fresh air and freedom. When’s the next trip over the wall?”

Stasios shook his head as he moved his fork around his food.  It was a reasonable enough portion of ground garula cooked into a patty with gravy, with fried mushrooms of some sort off to the side. There was another sort of something he suspected to be potato next to the mushrooms, and once Stasios saw it was decorated in cheese, he decided to eat whatever that was first. “I’m done with that. Things are different now. His Highness is eighteen next month, and we’re going to have to be on our guard even more.”

“What, because the Prince will be legal?”

“Because the Prince will be _of age_ and in case you hadn’t noticed, the wall is a _lot_ closer than it used to be. Used to be two warps, maybe three. Now you can almost walk to it.” He stabbed a potato chunk for emphasis, and stuffed it in his mouth in the hopes that it would dissuade further conversation. It wasn’t a potato, but he had no idea what it was. Insomnians ate strange food, and not nearly enough fish for his liking.

Galentius didn’t take the hint. Granted, Stasios had been kept mostly to himself for anything other than group training for the past four months and Galentius was his friend. “That’s all the better for you, right? I mean, you don’t warp.”

Stasios simply lifted his gaze to Galentius, fork still stuck in a potato. It… honestly didn’t taste like much. “I do. I prefer not to.”

Galentius sat back in the chair. “Why not, man? It’s the best thing ever. I mean that breathless, weightless sensation as you slip through the _still_ … I’d probably stay half in it if I could.”

“That place, if it is a place, gives me the creeps.” He tried the garula next, cutting into it with his fork as he spoke. “And besides, we all know that only the King’s First supposedly has that ability… and I’m still trying to figure out if that’s Amicitia or Leonis.” Another mouthful of food… and more disappointment. He really needed to start cooking for himself. All the food in the Citadel was bland.

“I’m betting it’s the Marshal. It would explain how he slips from point A to point B the way he does,” Galentius replied, moving to swipe a mushroom off of Stasios’ tray with his fingers.

Stasios didn’t object; he didn’t particularly care for the mushrooms anyway, as those were even less flavorful than the garula. He missed the spices of Khad. Even the food in Galahd had been better than this. “Regardless, it’s not something you ask, and I’m not interested in spending enough time there to figure it out. You want to risk stasis or worse, be my guest.”

“Damn, man, what happened to you? You used to be-”

“Careless? Reckless? Foolhardy?” Stasios pushed his food away. “Because that's what I was. I let complacency of power go to my head, Galentius. Yes, I'm Kingsglaive, but I'm no fighter. I'm a shielder. My power is to protect, to keep those who cannot guard themselves safe. I have no business endangering others so I can get stronger.”

 

Galentius went silent at the outburst, and after a while, he ventured a question. “Damn… is that what happened? Nyx wouldn't say. Said it was your story to tell, and wouldn't speak another word about it.”

Stasios took a deep breath, centered his thoughts, and then in a quiet voice told Galentius what had happened four months ago. He rounded out the recap with the hardest truth he’d have to face. “The woman, I didn’t even know her name, Galentius. And she died because of me. _All_ of them died because of me.”

“Steadfast, you didn’t cause that. The reason they were out there was what they told you. They were out there with their own reasons. Your paths crossed and you survived. Yeah, you’ve got a bad case of survivor’s guilt, and Nyx didn’t help any by assigning you to the latrines. You need to talk it out with someone, not bottle it up and hide it behind routines,” Galentius replied, the easygoing jovial nature set to the side.

Stasios looked at his companion and shook his head. “I’m Kingslaive.”

“You’re a person, too. _Six_ , Stasios… if…” he fell silent as another glaive passed by the table. “Look, just talk to someone, okay? Don’t care who… hell, you can talk to me. But you’ve got to let it out, or it will eat at you until you aren’t you anymore.”

Stasios just gave Galentius a half-hearted smile, and then cast a glance over to Licina as she walked up to the table. “Hey, Lici.”

Galentius rolled his eyes at Stasios and stole another mushroom from Stasios’ tray. “What’s up, Lici?” Stasios suppressed a snort at his friend’s filching. Galentius could have his meal. It wasn’t appetizing anyway.

“There’s been an incident and Stasios is needed to report to Drautos immediately.”

She’d used official names, so this was serious. Stasios lifted his napkin from his lap, rose, and looked to Licinia. “Lead the way, I’ll keep up.”


	4. Redemption

Licinia led the way through the halls, setting the pace fast enough that it wasn’t quite a run, but they weren’t simply walking. They sped through the Citadel, rising from the lower levels where the Kingsglaive lived and trained up to the ground level. They rose yet again, up to the Reception levels, where King Regis’ throne room filled half of the Citadel floor for the next dozen floors or so. When they turned down the hallway towards the throne room, Stasios decided that perhaps it was time to be concerned that the incident in question was going to end badly for him.

They moved past the doors to the throne room, heading towards the back room that few knew existed, and fewer still had stepped within. It was, of course, at this door that Licinia stopped and raised her hand to knock in a staccato sequence on the elaborate woodworking.

When the door opened, Licinia stepped in and Stasios followed.

 

They brought fist to heart, bowing at the men who stood inside, waiting to be acknowledged, Stasios’ mind reeling. Leonis, yes. But Amicitia and the King as well. What had he done? He’d been on latrine duty for the past four months, and he’d kept himself out of trouble. _Narrow, but not so straight._ Well… that couldn’t be the problem. His bed had been cold more than not. What had he done?

Beside him, Licinia was straightening, speaking as she did so. “Stasios Teleon, sir, at your request.” She backed out of the room with another salute, leaving Stasios alone in the room with his fate.

 

Stasios stood, and came face to face with the piercing sky blue eyes of Cor Leonis. He hadn't been this close to the Marshal since Nyx Ulric had dragged him back from the shores of Cavaugh. “Sir,” Stasios acknowledged, and then he closed his mouth before it got him into trouble.

“Teleon, you are the best shielder I have in the Kingsglaive though it galls me to admit it. You’ve been an irreverent pain in the ass since training, but you’re a good man. And I need a good man right now. Are you that man?”

Time seemed to slow around Stasios, or perhaps it was adrenaline that made him seem so much faster than the rest of the world. He was in the King’s private office with arguably the three most powerful men in Lucis and one of them was asking if he was theirs.

Insomnia… no, the _Lucis Caelum_ had taken him in, given him a home and a purpose, and that very same bloodline that had given him a new life was now asking if he was theirs. He’d be a damned fool to say he was anything but.

And yet, honesty opened his mouth and made words escape that might have been better suited for a private conversation. “I am your man, though good or ill rests entirely on the beholder. I will act- or not- for the good of Lucis and her Crown, as both are my Hearth and Home.”

 

Silence settled around Stasios’ words, and then there came a soft laugh from deeper in the room, a voice rich with power offering wryly amused words. “You're right, Cor, he _does_ have a way with words.” Regis Lucis Caelum stepped around the desk and approached Stasios, reaching out with both hands to take one of Stasios’ as Cor moved out of the way.

“There is an event that I must attend, and Cor here believes that I’m in need of a shielder. What think you, Teleon?”

“Have I permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Does this mean you’ve been biding your tongue? Amicitia quipped, causing the King to chuckle again.

“Speak your mind, young man.”

Stasios didn’t look to Cor. “If the Marshal suggests a thing, sir, then it should be as good as done. And if a thing is as good as done, then it is a far wiser thing to simply do it and be done with it.”

“Cor…” the King began, half-turning to the man beside him. “When are young to teach that to my son?” He gave the hand a brief shake and released Stasios, nodding as he turned back towards his desk.

Stasios stood there, wondering if he should ask his question, when Amicitia fixed him with a look that told him to keep his mouth shut and looked to Regis. “You going to read the boy in, Regis? He’s looking more than a little clueless.”

The familiarity that passed between the three was oddly comforting to Stasios, as if he was looking at a tight-knit family with a bond that went beyond rank and title. _Brothers_ , he thought. And more than just the brotherhood of the Kingsglaive. These three men had _history_.

“What have you been told, Teleon? When you were brought here?” Regis asked softly, clearly not intending to unsettle Stasios, as if he was aware that the mere fact that he was the King of Lucis was unsettling enough.

“I was told that there was an incident, and I was needed.”

Amicitia snorted, and Cor shook his head. “That’s patently vague enough. The incident in question is a small issue where some rocks were thrown at the King’s motorcade, presumably by some people who don’t believe that Insomnia should have opened its gates for those in need. A window was broken and the paint was damaged, but the king was unharmed.”

 

Stasios processed that, at first indignant that immigrants would be blamed. But then, after a few moments of thought, he nodded. “I can understand both sides.” As Amicitia bristled, Stasios lifted his hand. “Once, I had a home and a companion in the village of Khad. We were happy. The Wall protected us. Insomnia stood guard.” He lifted his hand, cupped as if holding something, and opened his fingers. “But the Wall moved and the Empire came. I lost my companion and my home.”

Uneasy silence settled in the room, and Stasios shrugged, bringing his hand to his heart. “I could have chosen anger, yes. I could have pointed fingers and thrown rocks in blame. But instead, I chose understanding. I chose to live on and serve Insomnia so that others might not lose their homes and loved ones.”

“I think, young man, that Cor was right in choosing you. Come and have a look at this map and let us discuss what must be done.” Regis beckoned, and Stasios approached, eager to learn what was needed of him.


	5. Rememberance

In the end, the task assigned had been simple: Protect the King. The doing of said task, however, was not going to be quite as easy as that, Stasios knew.

Regis Lucis Caelum was expected to visit the hospital where many injured civilians were still recovering from the last altercation with the Empire. There was concern that some of them might become violent given the circumstances, and Stasios was to have his shielding ready at-will. This, of course, was going to be an enormous drain on the young Kingsglaive, and some measures had been taken in advance.

Special vials had been crafted for the use of whichever glaive had earned the task: something the dry-witted green-eyed young man from the library had called ‘elixir’ as he’d handed them over. When Stasios gently asked him why he seemed so out of sorts, the surprise had been badly masked by a nudge of glasses and hastily squared shoulders.

“The prince made those elixirs at the cost of his schooling on top of having missed whatever classes he had missed the week prior due to the necessity of making the elixir to save the lives of the two Kingsglaive.” The young man, clearly unaccustomed to anyone asking him questions in true concern, continued. “I must confide that at this rate, the prince will never grasp anything beyond the basic tenets of algebra.”

Stasios hadn’t meant to laugh, honestly. But he couldn’t help it, given the practical absurdity of a Lucian Prince doing his own algebra. When he saw irritation flare in those green eyes, however, he cleared his throat and turned his amusement into something he hoped was jovial camaraderie. “Perhaps, young man, instead of teaching him algebra, it might be wiser to show the young prince how to choose the proper person to help him with it instead.”

That seemed to resonate within the green eyes suddenly hidden under sandy brown bangs, as the other lowered his head, clearly considering. “That… is an idea with merit, and perhaps I know just the person for the task. Thank you, glaive, for your inspiring insight. If you will excuse me, I must lay the groundwork.”

As Stasios watched the young man turn and move away in a brisk walk, a figure ghosted up beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Now _that_ is a strange young man.”

“He seemed pleasant enough to me. Perhaps a touch too serious, but he carries weight beyond his years in his eyes. The prince has a good friend in him, I’d say.” Stasios replied as he tilted his head to rest against Licinia’s. She poked him in the side and they parted with a soft laugh shared between friends.

“Are you coming to the party tonight?”

“Party? Oh, stars.” Stasios had completely forgotten that they’d planned a ‘you survived!’ party for Pelna and Luche. He’d wanted to go, but this task that had been set before him… he needed to be fully rested. Staying up the night before drinking and partying seemed a poor choice.

Regretfully, Stasios shook his head. “I’m going to have to take a pass, Licinia. I’m on task for the Crown first thing in the morning, and I don’t dare screw this up. I just got out of the latrines.”

“Oh, you’ll take the piss, you mean,” Licinia shot back, punching him in the shoulder. “More for me, then. I’ll drink your share and take photos for you. Whatever you have to do had better be worth Luche’s ire when he realizes you aren’t there. You’re going to owe a round of drinks.”

“He’ll never even notice, and if he does, I’ll gladly pay.” Stasios replied, lifting a hand in farewell as he headed towards the elevator.

“Yeah, he will, so be prepared.” Licina called to his back, and he heard her footsteps take her in the other direction.

 

He awoke in the darkness, eyes opening even as his mind wondered why he was dreaming of his early days in the Kingsglaive. He took a quiet breath, held it, and then shifted slightly to reach out and turn the lamp on beside the bed. His companion didn’t stir, of course, and Stasios took a few moments to look at the sleeper beside him.

Oh. Of course. How had he not put it together? This haunted and scarred young man fresh from terrors he couldn’t speak of… this was the same green-eyed youth from the halls of the Citadel. Of course he’d heard the name ‘Advisor Scientia’ whispered through those halls, but never once had he expected the Prince’s right hand man to be as of an age to the Prince.

But, as he reflected, it made sense looking back. The harried nature of the young man, the desperate attempts to look older, the seeming age within those grass-green eyes… Stasios’ stomach lurched. His eyes. This young man sleeping before him had been possessed of such a piercing gaze, and he’d not only lost it in service to his prince, he’d subsequently lost his prince as well.

_Well, Steadfast, if ever you wondered why you survived Insomnia’s fall, perhaps your answer lies sleeping before you._ Stasios thought as he allowed his gaze to traverse the ragged scar visible in the light. He resisted the urge to rest his hand on the younger man’s cheek. He hadn’t earned that right. At least… not yet.

But Stasios was a patient man. He’d wait and see what this young man decided to allow.

After all, Stasios suspected that even the Astrals themselves couldn’t shake Ignis Scientia’s mind once he’d decided to do something.


	6. Perception

Ignis, Stasios soon learned, was a man quick to chafe, but reticent in showing it. Yes, thank you, he _was_ blind, and no, he _wasn’t_ an invalid thank-you-very-much. Until he took a few steps and ran into something Stasios had left out of place, such as a glass on the counter, or worse, the chair he’d left behind in his attempt to assist Ignis. And even then, it wasn’t initially obvious that Ignis was agitated except for the tightening of lips and a soft and short exhale of breath.

 

Sometimes, however, Stasios just managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time… and that usually resulted in chaos. Given that Ignis was a man of order, chaos led to exasperation and continued exasperations led to suddenly fierce emotional firestorms worthy of the Infernian himself, where Ignis would snap at Stasios, and then instantly apologize and withdraw into himself. This, of course was consistently repeated as Stasios learned how to help the blind man live. Or, to more appropriately put it: how to stay out of Ignis’ way while at the same time be supportive and helpful.

In a few short weeks, Stasios had determined that Ignis desperately needed to let go and learn to relax. It was a monumental task, starting with learning how to read Ignis’ moods and then how to break through to the man himself. It was a slow process, little by little driving a wedge in the cracked veneer held tightly about the younger man. After all, Stasios had learned that Ignis Scientia hid behind everything. He hid behind his blindness, hid behind his darkened glasses and cane. Hid behind unruly bangs and a mask of carefully studied indifference. The only thing he didn’t bother to hide from Stasios was the fact that he was doing it.

It didn’t bother Stasios. He simply made the appropriate noises and continued to gently prod at the cracks when he found them without being too obvious that he was doing so deliberately.

 

One crack in Ignis’ facade had started early on, when Stasios blatantly had not commented on Ignis’ nudity the first day he’d awoken from his illness. It cracked a bit more that same day when Stasios introduced Ignis to his favorite spicy marmalade. And then Ignis had turned up at the door of his own residence, covered from head to toe in sticky flan residue and _Stasios_ had nearly cracked.

It had taken everything Stasios had within him to not declare the other man a beautifully hideous mess and kiss him senseless in that very moment. Instead, he opened his mouth and channeled every effort into sounding absolutely horrified. “Ignis! Where have you _been_ , man? How- what did you do? You look as if you’ve battled half the Night itself.” He caught Ignis up, half-dragging the bewildered man up his own stairs and maneuvered him into the bathroom, planting him in the shower. “Where are you bleeding? Have you any potions? _Ramuh’s beard_ , Ignis. What were you _thinking_?”

He bent around Ignis and turned the water on, trying not to get it in his companion’s face, but failing, given Ignis’ splutter and sudden movement. “How did you- do you have a key?”

Oh right. Stasios had forgotten to mention that before. He moved Ignis back into the waterstream, reaching into the younger man’s sandy blond hair and trying not to flinch at the globs of… oh, this had to be flan. “Yes, Licinia gave me the key they’d given her- hold still, there’s flan in your hair- do I even _want_ to know how that happened? Anyway, Licinia gave it to me when you collapsed.”

 

Ignis was silent for several moments, and Stasios couldn’t honestly blame him. He could think of far better things to have in his mouth… and that was wrong and he shouldn’t think like that. Not about Ignis. Especially when he was pretty sure the younger man had it bad for his prince and no-one else. He was glad when Ignis started speaking, but his stomach sank with the words. “It wasn’t a flan. I’m afraid it was a gelatin, though wait… it had a sort of hardness to it. It was probably a crème brûlée, now that I think about it.”

Stasios shook his head. “A crème brûlée. Are you mad, Ignis Scientia? Going after one of those alone?”

Ignis sounded somewhat defensive. “I started with imps. Things simply progressed at extreme exponentials until I arrived at the impasse of fighting a red giant alone. Discretion being the better part of valor, I departed after mortally wounding the thing.”

Stasios had no right by which to feel the way he did, and he knew it, so he bit his lip and forced his words to come out as a joke. “I was unaware you disliked my company to such an extent. Shall I give back the key?” He probably should have mentioned the key and asked Ignis’ opinion before it had come to them standing fully clothed in the other man’s shower, even if Stasios was still mostly dry.

“No, if someone has to have a spare, it might as well be you, as I’ve grown accustomed to your noise,” Ignis retorted, then pushed Stasios’ hands away from his hair. “Thank you, I think I can finish my shower, unless you’d care to berate me some more for my dessert choices?”

Stasios chuckled softly, grabbed the washcloth from the railing and tossed it at Ignis in an easy underhand. It smacked against the other man’s stomach with a soft thwap, and he moved out of the bathroom to give Ignis some privacy and himself some peace. Blind or no, taking on an exponentially more difficult fight that resulted in fighting a red giant… well, there was very little for it. Ignis clearly had a death wish.


	7. Rhythm

Stasios saw so much of his younger self in Ignis Scientia that it took his breath away. Rash but driven, fierce and controlled, Ignis was the ghost of the young man who had brashly flouted the rules and gone out past the Wall to test his shielding abilities. It terrified Stasios that Ignis disregarded his own safety and proceeded through his life without a care to the fact he was blind.

“Ignis, all I am asking is that you consider the fact that you don’t need to be out there up to your neck in danger.” Stasios stood by the door, watching Ignis gear up in preparation to go out into the night and fight. “I know that you have the _still_ , but what happens if you lose your link? What happens if you get hit upside the head?”

“I will be fine, Stasios. Just… be here when I return?” There was a new note in the soft accent, a gentle query underneath the spoken question.

Stasios wondered for a moment, but then he rested a hand on Ignis’ arm, and nodded as he spoke, “I will be here at your return. Be safe and come back quickly.”

 

While Ignis was out, Stasios did what he could to keep himself occupied and not thinking about what Ignis was doing. It stayed in his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch, no matter what he did to draw his attention somewhere else. He cleaned, he cooked, he cleaned up after himself, and then he settled down with a book and waited. It nearly killed him.

The next time, Stasios went out with him, and the next, and the next after that. Stasios was always impressed (though worried) by Ignis’ ability to fight. Iris herself had called Ignis a force of nature over lunch… and then left Ignis coughing in reaction to her observations regarding her lunch dates and how well they seemed to replicate an old married couple.

It left Stasios shaken. He’d been trying not to be so obvious regarding his thoughts about Ignis, and if she could tell... Sassy as ever, Iris left them with a cheeky grin at Stasios, who found himself smiling back at the young woman, suddenly knowing that she’d never actually do anything other than the legendary Amicitia teasing.

 

Consequently, it took months for Stasios to work up his nerve and actually act on his feelings. A date, a _true_ date was in order, and Stasios decided that a meal and a quiet evening spent reading or listening to music would do the trick. Anything other than fighting daemons or other demons of the mind and heart. His only goal was to get Ignis to finally relax.

 

Stasios had planned for a week and then invited Ignis over for a Khad style meal: a deep water fish from the fishery that had been built in the shadow of Exineris, spiced heavily and dry-marinated for a day prior to cooking. He’d partnered the fish with a white carrot from the greenhouses and a heady yellow tuber that had been the result off a happy accidental cross-pollination during the early months of the Night while researchers were trying to find a darkness-tolerant potato.

Visual appeal lost, the spice and the balance of flavors had to make up for the loss, and Stasios was well pleased by Ignis’ response to the mix of scents in the air. The reception of the meal itself was more than favorable, and after the meal, they’d worked together to wash the dishes, even though Stasios had insisted it wasn’t necessary.

 

Eventually, Stasios managed to draw Ignis away from the kitchen, luring him with the promise of a fine dessert wine and a good book. They’d settled on the sofa, and Stasios had begun reading aloud, Ignis resting against him. At some point, Ignis had ended up nestled against Stasios’ chest, his dark glasses on the table next to his partially-drunk glass of wine, with Stasios running his fingers through soft ash-brown hair as he read.

Iris was right, Stasios knew. He loved Ignis, and if it came to nothing more than being content to be by his side for as long as Ignis deemed it allowable, Stasios would be… Ignis’ ungloved hand had fallen on the inside of his leg. Stasios’ breath caught mid-word, and he cleared his throat before backtracking a few words and starting again, only to falter when the hand shifted slightly, and allowed Ignis’ arm to rest against his pelvis. Stasios let his fingers still in Ignis’ hair, folding the book closed around a finger of his other hand, and waited. Was Ignis asleep?

Another moment passed, and the silence seemed to reach the man resting against him, for Ignis took a sudden and deep breath, carefully moving his arm and hand, murmuring his apologies, cheeks burning as he shifted away from Stasios.

Something emboldened Stasios, and he dropped the book, then moved to stop Ignis from shifting too far away. Surprised, the younger man paused as Stasios took his face into both hands, brushed a thumb across scarred lips, and took a breath, and then the plunge.

It was as if he'd thrown a light switch. Ignis fisted his hands into Stasios’ shirt and clung as if he was a man starved for touch. A fierce and desperate intensity pushed his lips against Stasios’, and it took the darker man aback. Gently, he eased Ignis down, reassuring the other man with soft touches, murmured sounds, light caresses, and a firm but gentle embrace.

Fearful insistence finally gave way to languiditiy as Ignis slowly relaxed into the touch, and Stasios used everything but words to talk. Touches, caresses, sometimes just a gentle hand resting against skin when the younger man started to keen. It took time to ease Ignis back from the edge of panic and desperation as touch grew more heated, and it was hours of simple comforts before Ignis finally fell into a peaceful slumber.


	8. Estrangement

It did not take long for Stasios to determine that Ignis was much akin to his namesake. When riled, Ignis was a force unto himself. He moved with frenetic energy, and refused to be told something couldn't be done. He simply forged ahead.

He'd applied himself to learn braille in much that same fashion, Stasios learned, and was now using that same intensity of focus to fight off the daemons that dared venture too close to Lestallum. Stasios tried to argue once that three miles wasn't all that close, but Ignis had none of it, insisting that if a three mile radius wasn't protected, it would all too quickly become a two-mile radius.

Unfortunately for Stasios, Meldacio HQ seemed to agree with Ignis. Lit sentry stations were becoming a new idea, as they'd discovered (through Ignis' testing) that certain daemons exuded an oil at death that not only burned effectively, but cast the proper light to ward off other daemons.

So began a hunt for specific daemons to kill, distill, and render into a workable light source. It was hard going, however, and the immediate effect was that only the new sentry stations would have the oil lamps until they could get better results.

 

When Ignis was in his element, Stasios took the opportunity to work within his own.

His accent had been remarked upon, and as a result, he'd mentioned that he was from the now long-gone village of Khad. This had led to a discussion between some others from similar areas... and how Stasios found himself happily tending fish at the fishery when he wasn't busy compiling more data for the Daemonaria that Ignis had begun.

When he found himself too distressed about Ignis, Stasios working the fishery's waters as he quietly sang the old songs to the fish and anyone else who would listen. It worked well, for his songs attracted children, and he taught them to tend the fish and sing the songs, much as he'd been taught as a youth himself.

As time passed, he taught them the seasonal songs. The song of the harvest, and the song of the blessing. He taught them too the song that warded off the wrath of the sea-goddess, though there was little need. According to Ignis, the Astrals had left the world and taken Noctis with them. Stasios couldn't argue against it, for as far as he could tell, not a single one of the Six had so much as hinted at existing for nearly five years.

 

There was a strange moment when Stasios mentioned the passage of almost five years to Ignis. The younger man had paused, not even for a full second, but it had been enough that Stasios could read that there was something intrinsically amiss.

It got worse when the Glaive decided to raise a glass for Noctis.

 

The evening had been going well enough until Jon offered his favorite memory, and Ignis had completely shut down. Stasios had watched the color of emotion drain from the Crownsguard’s face, stunned by the swiftness of the blind man’s departure.

He’d risen and followed Ignis, but Ignis had paused at the door, lifting his hand. “Please, a moment to myself, if you would.” He moved past an arriving woman and vanished from Stasios’ line of sight.

 

Stasios cleared the door mere moments behind him, but when he’d moved out into the open air of Lestallum, Ignis was gone. The man who was the Ghost could move in and out of shadows that Stasios couldn’t even see, let alone traverse, and though Stasios did everything he could to find the mysterious _still_ that Ignis and Galentius had often spoke of, it was not his lot in life to experience it.

One week passed with Stasios checking Ignis' residence twice a day, and there was no sign of the man. Nothing moved. Stasios put a precious and dearly paid for bag of coffee beans on the kitchen counter. Nothing changed.

At the end of the second week, in a fit of pique, Stasios rearranged the living room furniture. He knew full well it would provoke an explosive argument, but even that would be better than silence. The coffee table stood upside down in the middle of the room, Ignis' favored chair on top of it.

Dust settled around the chair legs resting on the coffee table by the middle of the third week.

By the end of that week, Stasios had organized some of the older children into a network that whispered through Lestallum with a singular mission: Find the Ghost.

It didn’t take long. The children's families had interacted with a man who fought like no other, and the information they brought back was unsurprising but terrifying to Stasios. The Ghost was fighting to clear the tunnels that had been carved out of the bedrock to allow for more power lines to be run for lights for the New Lestallum development northeast of the existing city. He spoke with workers directly, and then Stasios called Licinia to arrange a team for search and recovery.

 

The Ghost was finally located in the eastern tunnels, an emaciated and disheveled creature that initially didn't respond to searcher's queries. Word was quickly passed to Stasios, who hurried through the tunnels, only to be rendered speechless by what he saw.

Ignis was severely underweight, almost dangerously so, clothing hanging on his frame as if several sizes too large. His hair was longer and what wasn't matted with filth was limp and flat against his head. He was, head to toe, covered in old and new blood and ichor from countless fights, and he held himself warily against those who had come to aid him.

Stasios took a deep breath to calm himself and walked up to Ignis and rested his hand on the thin arm. "There you are, my friend." His voice remained steady, even though his heart was in his throat. "Come, Ignis, you have fought well. Let us get you home and cleaned up."

Ignis didn't make a sound, simply flailed at Stasios, as if trying to grab his shirt. When Stasios brought his arm around Ignis’ terribly thin shoulders, the younger man shuddered once, then collapsed.


	9. Trepidation

For the first three days, Stasios was convinced they were going to lose Ignis.

Lestallum had not developed the vast medical complexes that Insomnia had, but many of the doctors that had fled Insomnia had built a network of knowledge and had converted a small apartment complex into a medical facility that resembled a hospital about as much as Stasios resembled your average Lucian.

Ignis had been hurried into one of the ground floor rooms, and after several quick discussions, a doctor ushered Stasios out of the room. He'd stood in the hallway on the wrong side of the door, Licinia's hand on his shoulder, and wondered quietly if they would see Ignis again.

"He's a fighter. He'll fight through this too," she replied softly, moving her hand to smooth the fabric on his back.

"And what if he doesn't? He lived for the prince, and it's been five years, Lici. What if he's given up?"

Her hand stopped moving, resting on his far shoulder, fingers gripping him. "Then that's on him. But don't you give up on Ignis, Steadfast. If you give up on him, then he will give up."

He lifted his hand and rested it atop hers. "I don't think I could give up on him if I tried."

"Do you love him?"

"Do I need to say it?"

"Not to me."

The door opened and the nurse that stood there regarded the pair of them quietly. Stasios recognized the expression as professional. "We're doing what we can. The rest is up to him. If you want to sit with him, you may. Just be quiet." She moved out of the way, and Licinia gave Stasios a little push.

 

The man in the bed was still Ignis. Stasios had to actively remind himself of this. And while he'd been cared for by the medics, he hadn't been properly bathed. There hadn't been time for that in the desperate attempt to save the life that had nearly burned itself out.

So Stasios turned to a nurse in the room, and caught her eye. "Is it possible to have a wash towel and some water?"

She smiled that gentle smile that all medical professionals give when they understand the need to do something for an injured loved one, and nodded. "It will be a moment, but I think I can find some for you."

"That would be much appreciated, thank you."

She smiled again and slipped out of the room as Stasios settled into the chair beside the bed and looked worriedly at Ignis.

 

The water was warm, though the wash towel wasn't quite as soft as Stasios might have preferred. Still, it was better than allowing Ignis to languish in the bed, filthy and disheveled, so he took great care to be gentle.

He started with Ignis' hand, the one that wasn't bound by needle and cables by which a nurse could monitor his vitals. From that hand, carefully to the other, minding the nurse when she clucked at him. The shirt was a lost cause, and he couldn't undress Ignis anyway, so he instead did what he could to wash Ignis' face, tending the scars and pressing a soft kiss to unmoving cheek when he was done.

The nurse stepped in then, taking the water and the wash towel from Stasios and ushering him back out of the room. "Off with you now. You both need rest. Come back after you've slept and leave him to us."

"Madame, a herd of wild anaks could not take me from his side," Stasios replied, unconsciously echoing an earlier conversation.

"I, on the other hand, can," Licinia quipped, catching hold of Stasios as he tried to re-enter Ignis' room. "Come on, Steadfast. Leave him with the medics for now. You need sleep too." Her slim hand was pale around his wrist, but it was a grip that brooked no resistance.

He allowed her to drag him out of the room and drifted alongside her, though he felt as if his heart was behind him on the bed. “I should never have insisted we go to the glass raising.”

She didn’t stop until they were outside the building, in the open air where Jonstabas was waiting. “Remember how you made me eat when Jon was hurt? How you reminded me to take care of myself as well?” Licinia’s lips curled as she looked to Stasios. “I know. I know how you feel, and it’s helpless. But it isn’t hopeless. He’s got care, and after you’ve slept, he’ll have you.”

Stasios couldn’t help but turn to look back to the building. “I should have thought to ask the children sooner, before he…”

“Steadfast.” Jonstabas’ voice was deep in the quiet, the commanding tone demanding the darker man turn to his old friend. “Stop second-guessing yourself. It happened; we move on from here. We’re all with you, and we’ll do everything we can for Ignis. We’re Kingsglaive; we take care of our own.”

“He’s Crownsguard,” Stasios corrected softly. “And we’ve never blended well.”

“Crownsguard, Kingsglaive, we’re all the same. Doesn’t matter what name you give it, we serve the Lucis Caelum. So does Ignis. _We take care of our own_.” Jonstabas enunciated the last six words carefully, emphasizing each one.

"And that means we take care of you too. So come on, play nice and I won't have to kick your ass," Licinia said with a smile, looping her arm around Stasios' and waving to Jonstabas to lead the way. "Because I can still do it and you know it."

Stasios had little doubt Licinia could still 'kick his ass' as she so bluntly put it, and he gave in gracefully, allowing her to drag him away from Ignis. "Only on one condition."

"And what's that?" Jonstabas asked from ahead.

"We stop by his place and allow me to get him some clean clothing."

Licinia started to laugh as they changed direction, turning at the corner instead of continuing on straight.

"Oh, you've got it bad, man," Jonstabas chuckled.

"Nothing of the sort. Ignis Scientia is a discerning man regarding his appearance," Stasios retorted, but he was smiling.

"Uh-huh," Licinia replied. "For a blind guy, he sure is picky."

"Just because he's blind doesn't mean he should be slovenly," Stasios' repeating of one of Ignis' lines wasn't lost on the others, and they just laughed.

It was good to laugh, Stasios thought. Because otherwise, he'd want to weep for Ignis. And that just wouldn't do.


	10. Endurance

Stasios had slept, though poorly, and only fully roused himself by way of a very cold shower. (Which, in Lestallum, meant the shower was actually a few degrees below body temperature.) He wasn't particularly hungry, so shoved a small dark loaf of bread in a bag and put that in the satchel he shouldered to take with him. It contained clothing for Ignis, a new pair of dark glasses, and a book.

The walk across Lestallum was uneventful, and he arrived at the front door as visiting hours began. He smiled to himself and walked into Ignis' room as if he owned the place and came to a screeching halt.

Ignis had been bathed and changed out of his dirty clothing. His hair was washed and combed neatly out of his face, and without his glasses and upright hairstyle, he looked so _young_. Dark lips curled into a smile, and Stasios walked up to the bed and gently took Ignis' hand. "Good morning, Ignis." It was hard to ignore the tube in his nose, but it made sure he'd get nutrients, even though Stasios shuddered at the thought.

 

Without breaking contact, Stasios sat and just watched the other man's chest rising and falling smoothly. A nurse breezed in to take Ignis' vitals, and Stasios sat back, finally settling the satchel down and fishing the book out of the pocket.

When the nurse left, Stasios moved the chair closer to the bed, opened the book, and started to read to Ignis.

 

Several hours later, Jonstabas had joined Stasios, giving the other man a chance to stretch his legs. They talked quietly, telling Ignis stories and keeping each other company as the day lingered, Eventually, the men were sent home and Stasios departed after pressing a kiss to Ignis' hand.

The next day passed much the same, except that it was Licinia that sat with Stasios and not Jonstabas. The day after that, Jonstabas was back.

Two weeks passed in this fashion, and though Ignis' vitals remained stable, and there were good signs that he was recovering some weight due to the feeding tube. If he continued on this track, he could be remanded to home care as soon as he awoke.

Stasios was looking forwards to that. The nurses frowned on seeing him tucked in the bed with Ignis, simply because the bed just wasn't quite big enough to hold two grown men safely.

 

But by the end of the third week, it was becoming clear that Ignis wasn't coming back.

The man who lay tethered to the bed was awake, aware, and extremely pissed off. But he wasn't Ignis. He was non-verbal, given to snarl and glare as if he could physically see those who attended him, though they knew he could not.

Daggers appeared in the man's hands until they forced his hands flat and bound them that way, and Stasios knew that this? This was the Ghost. This was how Ignis had survived in the darkness. This was what he so carefully controlled but was now free of the refined consciousness that was _Ignis_.

It hurt to see the man reduced to little more than a snarling creature, but Stasios carried on, undaunted. All too soon, the man on the bed fell silent again, and remained insensate.

 

At length, they needed the room for another patient, so a still unconscious Ignis was unbound and moved to his own residence, Stasios trained as needed, and two medics were assigned to assist; one during the day, the other for the night. There was no talk of cost; Ignis had gone above and beyond in service for Lucis, the Crown, and even Lestallum. They all felt they owed him proper care.

 

By the end of the second month, Stasios had settled into his new life. Wake, dress, walk across Lestallum to visit Ignis and get updates from the night medic, then to the fishery. Take lunch at Ignis' and then return to work. Evenings were spent at Ignis' side, either soothing the raging Ghost, or reading to the unconscious man. When the night medic arrived, Stasios returned to his quiet residence to shower, and rest. Rise to repeat.

Doctors and nurses were always in and out, and Licinia and Jonstabas stopped by from time to time. They offered support and assistance when they could, but life moved on, and Stasios understood. And while he'd never made an outward promise to Ignis, Stasios stayed by his side.

 

The third month was much the same; Stasios' days become a ritual by which he existed. Day in, day out. Nothing changed. He didn't expect it to. Some days were fine. Some days he prayed to the missing Six for the strength he needed. All of it fell to the side when he stepped into Ignis' room, settled onto the bed and picked up the book.

 

As for the fourth month? Well. The fourth month was hell.

One afternoon, Stasios arrived for lunch to find the neighbors standing outside Ignis’ residence, shaking their heads as screams emanated from the upper floor window.

A woman stopped Stasios, resting her hand on his arm. “What that poor thing has been through… and you, such a dear. I’m praying for you both.” Stasios didn’t understand, but thanked her and rushed inside.

Ignis was fully shackled to the bed, straps across his chest and arms, hands once again bound flat against his thighs as he screamed himself hoarse. Nothing the medic or Stasios did offered him peace, and there simply wasn’t enough medical capacity in Lestallum to further diagnose. They could medicate Ignis into silence, and that was about it. The medic showed Stasios how to add the drug to the line, and then regretfully informed him that he had to move on to a new patient who needed critical care. That night, the other medic passed his regrets that he could no longer stay after this. Stasios understood what they couldn’t say.

 

So when Stasios could, he drugged the man he loved into complacency, and when he couldn’t due to dosage issues, Stasios closed the window and drew the curtains to try and muffle the sounds. None of the neighbors complained.

Stasios stayed by Ignis’ side, sending word to the fishery that he needed time to care for Ignis, and when Ignis was silent, he’d slip home to take care of things there. But he always returned to Ignis’ side.

One day, the screaming stopped, and after a week of silence, Stasios unbound his arms and chest. Hesitant, he watched the other man sleep until he had to retreat to his own residence for just a little while. He needed just a few moments to himself.

He fell asleep the moment he sat on the edge of his own bed, and only awoke when there was a knock at his door. He had no idea how much time had passed, and fearful of the news, he hurried down to open the door.

 

And found a perfectly dressed and patient Ignis Scientia on the other side.

 Stasios closed the door in shock. Was he dreaming? He reopened the door after a moment, and saw Ignis walking away. Heart in his throat, he followed.


	11. Reparation

Stasios followed Ignis all the way back to his residence, catching the door behind the blind man, surprised that Ignis hadn't noticed him. Up the stairs he went, pausing at the door when Ignis dropped onto the bed, sighed heavily, and fell onto the pillow, asleep instantly.

Dark brown eyes looked around the room, taking in the changes that had happened while he was at his place. There was the faint after-smell of an elixir in the air, and the feeding tube was on the floor, ostensibly from where Ignis had removed it. The hydration line was hanging free, dripping slowly onto the carpet, the red glint of blood still visible on the exposed needle. But all of that didn't bother him half as much as the discarded catheter did. That thought made Stasios shudder.

Slightly queasy, Stasios flipped the shunt on the hydration line and then moved into the bathroom. There, there were clear signs that Ignis had showered, and he'd knocked the shampoo bottle out of place. Stasios returned it to where it belonged before he moved back into the bedroom, toed off his shoes and slid into the bed behind Ignis, closing his eyes and just enjoying the simplicity of a moment he'd thought to never feel again. He didn’t fall asleep, just lay there and listened to Ignis, taking comfort in the other man’s existence.

Granted, he wasn’t certain he would be welcome when Ignis awoke, but that was going to be one of those bridges to cross when he got to it. For now? He would content himself with being able to take the simple pleasure of an embrace and lock it away in his heart for the future.

Then Stasios told himself he was being unnecessarily fatalistic, and pressed his forehead to Ignis’ shoulder and tried to still his mind and his heart.

 

Some time later, a whisper fell soft on his ears, a note of something hesitant threading through the syllables, as if Ignis didn’t dare believe that Stasios was there with him. "Stasios?" Well, to be fair, Stasios considered, he had closed the door in Ignis’ face. Ignis might be as unsure as he was.

Stasios moved, lifting to lean over Ignis, trailing his fingers along the unscarred cheek of his companion. He drew closer, that hand moving from cheek to heart, a firm embrace. "Forgive me," Stasios said, meaning the glass raising, but not wanting to outright identify it. "I did not see your pain."

Ignis stirred, twisted in his arms and clutched his shirt, burying his face against Stasios' chest. He took a single deep breath, and broke into weeping sorrow.

Stasios pressed his lips into ash brown hair, closed his eyes, and just held on. Eventually, Ignis’ tears settled into an uneasy sleep, and Stasios soothed him until he too fell asleep.

 

When Stasios awoke, Ignis was no longer in his arms. He was, instead, sitting up in the bed, a book in hand, quietly trailing his fingers along the words, reading as if nothing had happened. “Stasios,” he spoke with studied nonchalance, as if simply passing the time of day, “my coffee table was upside down with my chair perched inside it. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Stasios did his best to return the deadpan delivery. “I believe so, yes. I was attempting an old style ritual summon by way of annoyance. Did I succeed?” He looked up to Ignis to see the man’s jaw working, and it was all Stasios could do to keep a straight face. He failed, chuckled softly, and then gave in and started to laugh.

After a moment, Ignis too began to laugh softly, and when Stasios rested his head against Ignis’ chest, Ignis folded the book closed, and lowered his arm around him. “Thank you, Stasios. For being there,” his voice was a rumble, heard mostly through Stasios’ ear pressed against him.

“There is no place that I would rather be,” Stasios replied, closing his eyes and allowing himself to enjoy the moment. He could hear Ignis’ heartbeat, the sound of his breathing, even… he chuckled softly and moved off the bed to stand up. “My, but I am remiss in my duties. It has been some time since you had solid food, so I cannot prepare a full meal for you, but I will be back with something that won’t be appetizing, but will help.”

Ignis sighed softly, though he nodded in agreement. “Very well. I… apologize. For becoming a burden. It was not my intent-“

Stasios cut him off by leaning in, placing a hand under Ignis’ chin and pressing his lips to the other man’s in a kiss. When they parted, Stasios saw the uncertainty in the blind gaze, and he trailed his fingers down Ignis’ neck, resting his hand against his heart. “Dearheart, grief comes to us all, and we work through it in our own ways. I, too, have loved and lost.”

That gaze missed his by inches. “Would you… tell me? About them?” Ignis sounded hesitant, as if he didn’t want to intrude. “And how you survived it? I need… I need to know I’m not alone.”

“Ignis Scientia, you beautiful man, you are not alone.” Stasios moved to press his lips to Ignis’ forehead, and then stood. “I’ll be but a moment, and then I will tell you the story of a man named Ahn who lived in the village of Khad.”

Ignis’ eyebrows quirked slightly in a question. “Khad… was east of Galahd, if I recall. One of the first outlying island villages to fall to the Empire’s attacks. A peaceful seaside village to the northwest of Insomnia, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Indeed you are not mistaken at all. But before you draw me into conversation and distract me from feeding you, I am going to go downstairs and cook you something to eat.” Stasios patted Ignis on the shoulder and then turned to leave the room.


	12. Reconnect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a Black Friday Special!!  
> Have a bonus chapter, and I hope those of you who celebrate the US holiday of Thanksgiving had a wonderful one! :)

Once in the kitchen, Stasios leaned against the counter and tried to collect his heart. It took a few minutes, and then he focused on making something for Ignis to eat. Smaller egg-laying birds had been somewhat domesticated after the initial fall of the Night, and for the first few years, they’d been kept privately. In the last year, however, concern of the genetics of the birds introduced a breeding program, which in turn had resulted in a rookery and commercially available eggs.

Stasios was quite fond of the lighter flavor and therefore had ensured to always have some on hand. It was these eggs that he whipped into a frothy mixture in a bowl before cooking into a fluffy (if bland) meal for Ignis.

He spooned the scrambled eggs into a bowl, collected a spoon, and then took the meal up to the man in the bed, handing it over carefully. “Here you are, careful; it’s hot. And bland, but considering you’ve been on a liquid diet for some time, this will have to do for now.” He noticed the medical paraphernalia was missing, but said nothing of it. Some things didn’t need to be mentioned, and if Ignis had disposed of it, there was nothing to be done for it.

“Thank you,” Ignis murmured, and lifted the spoon to his lips, testing the heat before blowing on the egg. “So, you mentioned a man named Ahn. Was he your companion?”

Stasios chuckled softly and sat in the bed next to Ignis. “No, dearheart. I forget that you have not seen me since before the fall, and I doubt you recall the man who told you not to teach the prince his Algebra.”

Ignis lowered his spoon for a moment. “Tall, dark skin, with brown eyes and intricately braided hair. I occasionally saw him in the library, though he was always too loud and annoying for my tastes.” There was a note of amusement in his voice, as if finally revealing the punch line of a very long joke.

Stasios burst into laughter at the quip, watching Ignis tip his head in acknowledgement before finally eating the spoonful of egg. “By the Six, Ignis… you are a deviously delightful creature.”

“And you are a loud and annoying individual who dangles bits of information before me, only to attempt to distract me by one way or another. Now tell me who Ahn is, or I shall put this distressingly bland meal somewhere for you to find later.” Ignis returned with a devilish smile.

Stasios caught his breath when he realized that this was the first time he was truly seeing Ignis. Not the proper façade that the man presented to the world, but the actual sense of humor and humanity within. It almost overwhelmed him and he cleared his throat twice before he could speak, looking away to collect his thoughts.

“As you already know, I am not Lucian. I told you that I was born in the village of Kahd, and grew up on that seaside. By the time I was nineteen, yes, younger than you are now, I had a home and a partner.  But what I had not told you was that my name was not Stasios then. That is my Lucian name, the name I took when I became a glaive. My name, that is, the name that I was born with is Ahn, and I was a story-singer of Kahd.”

Stasios paused, and after glancing up to see Ignis still eating, he continued. “When the Empire came, I was one of those tasked with protecting the women and children. We fled to the rocks and crags of the seaside, swimming into tunneled caves for safety while our warriors fought for our sake. The Empire slaughtered the warriors to the last, and my love was one of them.”

An ungloved hand rested on Stasios’ own, but he continued to speak, the pain of the loss now faded into a gentle memory. “I fled to Galahd, and very nearly got myself killed in my grief. I picked fights, stole from the wrong people, and it was only by way of Nyx Ulric that I survived.”

Ignis snorted softly, but Stasios turned his hand and threaded his fingers into the pale grip. “He was as an older brother to me, though we were not so many years apart. He saved my life then and once more in Insomnia where we had become separated. When he found me again, he dragged me into the glaive, kicking and screaming.”

“I do recall stories of a glaive consistently pushing the limits and getting himself in trouble as a result. But I also recall that same glaive was unparalleled in his ability to shield others, something that was no easy task.” Again there was that gentle sense of teasing, and Stasios looked to see Ignis had finished his egg and set the bowl to the side. “But how did you manage the grief?”

“In many ways, I didn’t. In those early days, and even into my career as a glaive, I had a death wish. Nyx once told me that he ran into danger to replace someone who was at risk, but I just ran headlong into it for the hell of it.” Stasios paused, took a deep breath, and then offered his thoughts, though they hadn’t been requested. “And now, I sit here and wonder if you aren’t doing the very same thing I did.”

“I cannot shield in the fashion the glaives could,” Ignis replied softly. “Though I concede that I very well may be too willing to rush into danger. In part, perhaps, because it was my job to protect Noctis. In part, perhaps, because he is now lost to me.”

“But _you_ are not lost to _me_ , and I believe I prefer it that way,” Stasios chided lightly.

His words had the desired effect, for he saw that little smirk play across Ignis’ face. “You only _believe_ that you prefer it that way? I am wounded, Stasios. I thought you were quite besotted.”

“What an old-fashioned word,” Stasios mused, bringing Ignis’ fingers to his lips. “But if you only thought…” he ghosted his lips over Ignis’ hand, whispering words into the other man’s skin, tracing a path to those long fingers. “Perhaps I should take it upon myself to remind you.”

“Perhaps…” Ignis replied equally as soft, leaning his head back against the headboard with a soft sigh. “You should.”

When the bowl fell to the floor, neither man paid it any attention.


	13. Companionship

Someone was knocking on Ignis’ front door.

Stasios grabbed a towel and flung it around his waist as he hurried out of the bathroom and down the stairs. He opened the door to find Licinia standing there, and her gaze swept from toe to towel. She shifted her weight, canted a hip, lifted her eyes and reached out to hit his shoulder. “Really, Steadfast? I heard Ignis was seen on the street mere hours ago, and you answer the door in nothing but a towel?”

“We were in the shower. I could have answered without it,” Stasios replied as she pushed her way into the residence.

“Wouldn't be anything I haven't already seen,” she shot back as she moved into the front room. “Unlike this. What the hell, Steadfast.” It was more a statement than a query.

Stasios hadn't realized that Ignis had left the chair in the coffee table, and chuckled softly. “Postmodern art.” He closed the front door and waved at the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable and we will be down shortly.”

“Stasios,” Licinia began, her voice filled with concern. “Just… be careful. Not too long ago he was in very bad shape. Even if he wants… certain things… I remember, how difficult it was with Jon…” her voice trailed off and she didn't look him in the eye.

“Lici, I swear to you that I would never hurt Ignis, or allow him to come to harm where I have influence. But I will not deny him simple comforts and reminders that he is loved.”

As they spoke, the man himself came down the stairs. Jeans that were once tight enough to cling now hung low on his hips, and the soft cotton shirt was a touch loose, but carried it off well enough. Ignis wasn’t the picture of health, but he was a damn sight better than he had been.

“Ignis!” Licinia blinked. “I… it’s good to see you up and about… how in the world?”

Ignis’ lips quirked in a smile as he came to a stop next to Stasios. “The loving care of good friends and an elixir stored away for a rainy day. The rest is just a matter of time.” Pale fingers hooked into the towel at Stasios’ waist and Ignis tilted his head. “Now do please go find enough clothing that our guest isn’t traumatized. It would be a terrible embarrassment should the towel shift.”

“We were just discussing that, Ignis. I will return momentarily, Lici.” Stasios turned to Ignis, not entirely certain that the man had made the pun he thought had been made. There weren’t any indications in Ignis’ expression, so Stasios turned and moved to walk away to retreat up the stairs.

“And as I told Steadfast, it isn’t anything I hav…” Licinia’s voice trailed off and Stasios chuckled as he made his way up the stairs, without the towel. “Ignis Scientia, has anyone told you that you’re as much a menace as Nyx Ulric?”

Ignis’ voice came from below, and Stasios could only imagine the smile on his face. “Madame, I object. I am nothing like Ulric. I am but a poor blind man whose companion has left his towel thoughtlessly in my care.”

Stasios did try not to laugh at Ignis’ indignant reply, but it wasn’t easy. He allowed a soft chuckle as he chose clothing, listening to the ebb and flow of the voices rather than the words being spoken. They sounded comfortable enough with each other, so Stasios didn’t rush. He shifted around some shirts and a pair of black long shorts that he didn’t think he’d ever seen Ignis wear, and then closed the drawer, padding downstairs barefoot.

 

“…but truly, when you think about it, it’s remarkable that they have had that much success,” Ignis was saying when Stasios made it to the front room.

The chair and coffee table had been set to rights, and Ignis was settled in the chair, Licinia at one end of the sofa. That left the other end for Stasios, and he took his place accordingly, listening to the conversation.

“Oh, I agree. But we have lost so much medical ability… while we have the knowledge, we lack the technology,” Licinia replied, nodding to Stasios. “Even still, they are doing good work. There’s talk about trying to rebuild some of the equipment, but the question is ‘how’? We’re not quite blown back to the stone ages, but it’s pretty damn hard to re-create an x-ray machine with a blender.”

Ah yes, Stasios thought. Jon hadn’t had access to an elixir when he’d been injured. Just one very stubborn Kingsglaive and a doctor that refused to lose a patient.

Ignis cast an unseeing glance towards Stasios, strangely good at it, though perhaps that was due to the Still. “Indeed. Not everyone has been as lucky as I. Without the power of the King at my hand, I believe I should surely perish.”

Stasios cleared his throat. “Well, this is certainly a sobering conversation. If we are to continue, I believe drinks are in order.” He rose to collect glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet. “Wine?”

“No, no, it’s all good, Steadfast. I was just by because I’d heard that Ignis had been seen walking down the street as if nothing had happened. I’m just incredibly glad that you’re better, Ignis,” Licinia said to the other man. Don’t scare us like that again, okay?”

“I shall endeavor to restrict myself to more suitable tasks in the future,” Ignis replied with his trademark charm, and Stasios shook his head and moved to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Besides,” Ignis continued, “I should never hear the end of it if I put a toe out of line again.”

“Oh it was more than a toe, Ignis. Your man here was a nervous wreck. We all were. And I don’t want to have to be the one to tell the King what happened to his right hand man, so no more dumb stunts,” Licinia chided softly, though she was smiling and it was clear in her voice.

Ignis ducked his head in a nod, and that was all that needed to be said. Between this and the conversation they’d had in bed, Stasios knew Ignis wouldn’t do anything that rash ever again.


	14. Storge

Days later, Ignis was out of breath and at his front door. Stasios looked at the younger man, and moved to invite him in, but Ignis raised his hand. “Sorry, can’t stay. I’ve a guest that’s turned up and I wanted to warn you. He’s asleep on my sofa… I found him wandering the streets. If you come by, please let him sleep. I’m not sure he has in a month.”

Stasios smiled and rested a hand on Ignis’ cheek. “I will give the two of you space, dearheart.” He drew Ignis in and kissed him as if their lives depended on it, then moved back. “Send word when you will.”

In that moment, Ignis looked a little lost, and it was a look that warmed Stasios’ heart. It wasn’t often that he got to see the other vulnerable, and Stasios held back the desire to rush back to Ignis and promise him anything he needed, as long as he stayed with Stasios. Ignis was his own man, with his own life and his own duties.

 

A week later, Ignis met him at his door, disheveled, hair wild and still wet from his shower. “Stasios, come, my guest has departed… there is no need to stand on ceremony.”

Stasios drew Ignis to him and pressed a kiss to both cheeks, finishing nose-to-nose with the man, sharing his breath for a moment before stepping inside. “I am sorry to have missed him, Ignis. Crownsguard Argentum, was it not? Word had it that he was in Lestallum.”

“Indeed he was,” Ignis replied as the door closed. “He and Aranea Highwind accompanied me on a hunt to test out some new technology before he departed for his new assignment in Hammerhead.”

“Argentum and Highland both? That mark must not have survived long. She’s almost as fierce as the Immortal. Damn near legendary in her own time.” He sighed as he sat on the sofa and sighed softly so Ignis would know where he was. “You miss it, that life, I know you do, and I would give it back to you were it in my power.”

“I do miss it, and I appreciate your thoughts. This is my life now, here in Lestallum, compiling what information I can, and preparing for the day when Noctis will return.” After a moment, Ignis settled in beside Stasios and leaned against the man.

“Then tell me of the hunt and your newest toys. I am certain there must be a story there worth the hearing.” He pressed his lips to Ignis’ temple, reaching to thread his fingers into Ignis’ gloved ones.

“I killed a black flan, Stasios. Granted, it sort of happened by accident, given that I was rebounding off of the lakhmu flan and landed on the black flan, but either way; the end result was the same.”

Stasios felt his stomach flip, as he vacillated between relief at Ignis’ relative safety and terror that the blind man was out there in the dark killing black flan with a lance. Ultimately, Stasios borrowed a page from Ignis’ own notebook and humored his companion. “Ignis, man, I find this does nothing for my composure. Let me get this straight: you landed on a black flan after attacking a lakhmu flan with the lance?”

“As Prompto put it, the black flan was quite flattened by my landing. I’m afraid there was little finesse about it, however; I rather hit with a squelch and slid off the thing to land ingloriously on my ass. I’m afraid I’ve bruised my tailbone.”

Stasios grinned wickedly as he closed his eyes for a moment, working hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. “Goodness, and that’s my favorite part of you, out for the count.”

“Favorite?” Ignis retorted quickly. “Surely not.” Stasios could hear the amusement in the other’s voice, and didn't need to look to Ignis to see the smile.

“Second favorite, then.” Stasios had aimed for an airy off-hand reply, but the indignant sound Ignis had immediately made left him fighting for air around silent laughter. “Fine, fine,” he wheezed as he brought his arms around Ignis. “Third favorite.”

“And what,” Ignis quipped, “Is your favorite part of me?”

“Your magnificent…”

Ignis cleared his throat.

“Intellect,” Stasios finished.

A glove hit him in the throat. “Suck-up.”

“Sometimes.”

The living room was filled with laughter then, as the tension that had been building since Ignis’ arrival snapped.

 

Later, after bruises had been tended, Stasios sat on the bed, leaned against the wall. Ignis was settled beside him, idly reading a book with one hand and trailing the fingers of his other hand along Stasios’ side.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Ignis began, and then paused. After a beat, he made an interested sound before falling silent again.

Stasios cracked one eye open and looked to Ignis, trying to decide if he should take the bait. That was, after all, how Ignis often started conversations between the two of them. Finally, Stasios sighed and caved. This, too, was par for the course. “Well? Planning to tell me what’s so remarkably interesting?”

“Did you know that you have a freckle right here? I can feel the change in your skin’s texture.” Ignis was gently running his fingers back and forth over one spot on Stasios’ hip.

Stasios knew for a fact that he had no freckles, and sighed softly, allowing the smile playing at his lips to color his reply. “And one day, dearheart, you will recall that I am not ticklish. You, on the other hand, are… and have put yourself in grave peril of retaliation.”

“But if you are not ticklish, then you cannot tickle me and consider it to be retaliation, as I am not, by definition, tickling you.” This too was a normal rationalization.

“In that case, you should have little concern,” Stasios grinned, moving to trail his own fingers along Ignis’ side.

He didn’t get close enough before Ignis had rolled onto his feet next to the bed, book safely folded about long fingers to keep his place. “Ah, too slow, Stasios. You’ll simply have to try harder to catch me next time.”

“Try?” Stasios laughed. “Why should I try when I have you in my net?” He tugged lightly on the drawstrings of Ignis’ pants.

Ignis paused, tilted his head, and curled his lips in a smile. “Touché.  And what shall you claim as your prize?”

“Nothing much,” Stasios demurred. “Just your voice.”

Ignis outright laughed. “As you will, Stasios. As you will.” And he climbed back into the bed, nestled himself up against Stasios, and began to read aloud, fingers dancing along the page, tracing the rise and fall of his letters.


	15. Sunder

Stasios was used to walking into a darkened residence, and generally Ignis had a light on just for him. Lately, however, it had been darker and darker, and it wasn’t just the physical light. Ignis himself was slipping deeper into a shadow where Stasios could not go. The Ghost wasn’t back… and yet, Ignis was not the man he was before the Ghost. He would sit; blind gaze off into a distance that existed only for him, hours upon hours spent with fingers the only thing moving, either reading or writing in braille.

Some days he barely acknowledged Stasios’ presence, sitting like a broken doll lost to his own thoughts. Some days he clung like a child and would barely tolerate Stasios slipping away for food or necessity.

 

Today he sat on the floor of his front room, table pushed askew and braille-dotted and handwritten pages scattered around him like confetti. Stasios turned on a light, stepped around the papers and settled down beside Ignis, resting his hand on the other man’s back and feeling the tension within

He paused at a page with Talcott’s handwriting, seeing the words _starscourge_ and _prophecy_ circled, then put it from his mind and kissed Ignis on the temple, reaching out to take the man’s hand. “Ah, Ignis, what has dimmed your heart that you sit thus? What has left you so bereft?”

At first, Ignis didn’t reply, but once he did, his voice was strained and bitter in tone. “I’ve analyzed everything we’ve found and arrived at the only answer. No matter how I look at it, the data remains the same, and I cannot abide it. What it means… what it says. Blind. I was blind.” His free hand moved, fingers grasping at his hair and tugging hard.

Stasios lifted his hand to take those fingers away from Ignis’ hair and draw the offending hand away and towards the other, both gloved hands now clasped within warm fingers. “What did you not see, Ignis?”

“Noctis.” The name was a prayer, a hiss, a moan. “It was foretold… the King of light, the Bringer of the Dawn… Dawn comes when the night fades. How… was I so blind, I could not see?” The words were a bitter rush, Ignis rocking back and forth as he spoke in a harsh whisper. “Noctis… Noctis… Noct… Night.” The sound Ignis made was soul-deep, a whispered cry of grief. After that, the room fell quiet.

 

Stasios was baffled, trying to put together what Ignis so clearly saw, but it wasn’t until Ignis spoke again that things started to make sense. “When darkness veils the world, the King of light shall come,” Ignis whispered the words.

“ _O'er rotted soil, under blighted sky, a dread plague the wicked hath wrought. In the light of the gods, sword-sworn at his side 'gainst the dark the king's battle is fought._ ” Ignis shuddered and Stasios drew him closer. “ _Sword-sworn…_ ” The slim man stiffened against the embrace, caught up in thoughts and emotions that Stasios could not sense. “By the gods, we’re escorting him to his _death_.”

Stasios couldn’t bear to hear the pain in Ignis’ voice. “Ignis. Ignis, please, whatever darkness you have fallen into, let me be your light. Step away from the edge of this madness and leave it. This is the riddle of prophecy and the madness of men trying to make sense of it.”

“Stasios?” Ignis asked quietly, suddenly clingy and needy, touch-starved and childlike. “Stasios, take me out of here. I need air.” His hands clutched at the other man’s arm, and he rose slowly under Stasios’ assistance.

It was too easy to maneuver Ignis out of his home and walk with him quietly to Stasios’ residence. Easier still to draw the man into the bed and curl him fully dressed into a gentle embrace. It was hard to let him weep silently, shivering in pain that Stasios couldn’t ease.

 

Later, they showered, dressed, and returned to Ignis’ home, whereupon Ignis boxed everything up as it was. The more that went in the box, the farther Stasios watched Ignis retreat within himself, hiding once more behind that veneer of stiff perfection and clockwork meticulousness that had been well-known in the Citadel.

By the time Talcott had the boxes in his possession, Stasios knew he was looking not at the Ghost, but at a newly realized Crownsguard Scientia.

That night, Stasios sat alone while the other man prowled the world outside of Lestallum, hunting any daemon that dared approach.

 

In the months that followed, Stasios saw another change in his companion. The facets of the man were changing yet again, the Ghost and the man seeming to come to a mutual agreement within Crownsguard Scientia. The Hunters all agreed that the Ghost was back, but Stasios saw more than that. Gone was the desperation, the blind need to strike out at the daemons that inevitably came to the siren call of a lone figure in the dark.

This was calculated, strategically planned and executed with a deadly dance of blades. Stasios could only watch from a distance and pray to whatever Astral might be near.

 

And then one night, there was a knock on Stasios’ door, Crownsguard Scientia standing under the meager light, prim, and proper in his uniform. The words were soft, the accent clear. “Thank you, Stasios. For everything.”

Stasios did the only thing he could: he rested his hands on slim shoulders, pressed a kiss to each cheek, and whispered an old Kahd blessing in the man’s ear.

As he stepped back, leather-gloved fingers lifted and trailed down Stasios’ cheek, making him close his eyes to savor the touch.

When Stasios opened his eyes, he was alone.

 

He ran for the observation area, heart thudding in his chest, feet pounding through the streets. Breathless, he caught up against the wall and looked out into the darkness across towards Insomnia, waiting. Watching.

And then, after several minutes, he saw it. A tiny light in the darkness, moving away, curving through the road. The truck that carried the Crownsguard back towards his King.

He watched it quietly, offering another prayer to whomever might be listening, and then, as if in answer, a flicker of blue. One last farewell.


	16. Perseverance

Despite everything, time moved on and Stasios persevered.  
  
He bound his heart with memories and returned to the fishery. He sang his songs and tended the fish, once again losing himself in his chosen occupation. The youth seemed to understand the pain in his voice and never left him fully alone while he was working. There was always someone nearby to talk to or sing with.

  
It warmed his heart, but his bed... Stasios could not bear to feel that warmth again. Losing it twice was far too much. He'd rather live alone with the memories of quiet puns and the echoes of soft laughter.

  
Licinia and Jonstabas were as supportive as they could be, but there wasn't much they could do under the circumstances. Stasios didn't express a desire to go to Hammerhead, so neither of them told him to attempt the run to Hammerhead would be suicide.

  
It wasn't as if he didn't know it. Waking alone in the darkness was suicide enough.

  
  
Then dawn broke across the sky and the people of Lestallum spilled out into the light and celebrated with dance and song and screams of joy.

  
Stasios sat on his patio and quietly drank a glass of wine.

  
  
Two weeks passed, and then there came a heavy knock on his door. Stasios looked up from his book, took a deep breath, and rose from the chair to walk across the room and open the door.

  
Two men stood there, wearing Kingsglaive uniforms, one big and dark of hair, the other lanky and blond. It wasn't hard to guess who they were or why they'd come to Lestallum and his front door. "Good morning, Crownsguard Argentum, Amicitia. Come inside." He backed up to allow the other two entry, and steeled his heart for what he already knew.

  
Argentum moved first, and then Amicitia. The bulk of the second man filled the doorway and made Argentum seem almost delicate in his own strength. “I’m sorry we meet this way, but Ignis… Ignis fell in battle to protect the King… and you were important to him…” the light voice faded and Stasios reached out to take the box that was offered to him.

  
  
He knew.  
He knew what was in the box.  
He knew what was in the box and he did not want to open it.  
He knew what was in the box and he pushed down his heart and opened it.

  
  
His gaze settled on the skull nestled against black velvet, and his lips curved in a sad smile as he trailed his fingers along the pendant lightly before he closed the box to look to the two men standing before him. “Thank you for bringing this to me. My time with Ignis, though brief, was filled with wonderful memories.” He brought the box close to his heart and couldn’t bear the sadness in the blue eyes, shifting his gaze to the darker man. “We will raise a glass tonight at the Leville, as is our custom. Please, join us?”

  
“We will, thank you. I’m sure we have lots of memories we can share together. But for now, we will leave you to your privacy.” Argentum saluted Stasios, and Amicitia followed suit. It took Stasios a minute to sadly return their salute, and then they ducked back out onto the streets.

  
  
Stasios closed the door behind them and leaned against the wall, eyes closed, hands clutching the box against his chest. They had said nothing of the King, the man who had held Ignis’ heart just as sure as Ignis had held Stasios’ but he knew. Ignis had been right: for the dawn to return, the King had to die.

  
And still the people celebrated.

  
Stasios understood why Ignis had withdrawn. What good were the chances of a blind man in a battle against the power of Kings? Better to leave with soft words and gentle regrets than with promises that couldn't be kept. Better leave behind the truth than a lie.

  
But the truth was that he missed Ignis. If this was how the man had felt without his king… Stasios opened his eyes and stared at the blank ceiling. The hardest thing was yet to come: the glass raising. “Ah… Ignis… forgive me, dearheart. I did not see your pain.”  
  
He dressed with care, ensuring that his uniform was perfect. Creases clean, buttons turned just so… it would not do to attend a glass raising for Ignis and not be proper. The final detail was his set of colors, and as he collected the fabric, it struck him. When he'd been commissioned as Kingsglaive, he'd been given a choice of color as accent and identifier. He'd chosen light green, the same color as those eyes had been.

  
He fastened one end of the cloth to his shoulder, and allowed the fabric to drape itself down the back of the coat. A simple act caught the fabric in the belt at his waist and then it flowed freely down his leg, the slightly weighted end stopping above his knee.

  
He turned and looked in the mirror, seeing that everything was in proper form, and nodded once to himself. He could do this. He would do this.

  
Stasios turned to step into the bathroom and as he reached to turn off the light, he bumped into the bottle of aftershave that Ignis had favored. He righted the bottle, flicked off the lights, and ran his fingers down his cheek. He took a small comfort from the faint scent, and then left his residence, heading to the Leville.


	17. Farewells

The glass raising had started well enough, with a light repast and casual anecdotes. That was until something passed across bright blue eyes and Prompto Argentum downed his wine and escaped the room. Seeing an echo of Ignis in the young man, and fearing the worst, Stasios followed.

His fears turned in his stomach when he saw the blond heading for the railing of the overlook, gaze cast off into the distance. When forward motion was checked by the railing, Stasios breathlessly grabbed Prompto’s shoulder. He’d lost Ignis, he wasn’t going to lose Prompto too. He spoke softly, trying to reconnect with the young man through his words, through the shared loss. “I used to come out here and watch him fight daemons. The flickers of blue as he summoned weapons beyond my reach proved to me he was still alive, much, I understand, as the weapons themselves proved to you that our King yet lived.”

“Yeah,” the younger man replied, his hand twitching as if in expectation of the mentioned weapon. “Sorry. Had to clear my lungs, you know? Gets to you, being inside, after years of living in the night air. Didn’t mean to drag you away from Ignis’ memorial. You good? We can-” 

Stasios didn’t yet know Prompto well enough to understand he’d just meant to leave the room, not cause a scene. “You are right, he hated being cooped up inside too. His favorite place was on the balcony, overlooking the street, a glass of tea in hand while he listened to the world. Come, let us rejoin the others.” The others had followed, and Stasios simply smiled as he led Prompto to the table, moment passed and tensions eased.

“Prompto and I were just discussing how Ignis much preferred to be outdoors. Did you know that I used to come out here to watch him fight daemons? Scariest thing I’ve ever done, honestly.” Stasios patted Prompto’s shoulder as the blond slowed next to the table. “But truly, how do you convince a blind man that the world he navigates is a dark and scary place?”

“You don’t. You learned better than to try.” The observation was a wry rumble from the larger man, and Prompto snorted in response as he took the glass Licinia offered, then swung a leg over the bench, clearly once again grounded in the conversation.

 “And that, my friends, is the Six-damned truth right there.If there was one thing you did not do, it was tell Ignis Scientia what to do. At least, not if you wanted to eat something other than canned grease or cup noodles.”

“Hey, I _like_ cup noodles!” Gladio’s comment made everyone laugh, but Prompto just grinned and held up his hand.

“I’m not totally against them, Gladio, but you have to admit, when Iggy was pissed off at you, your dinner choices let you know how mad he was. Now, see… a lot of you don’t know it, but Noctis hated vegetables. And if Iggy was mad, he made these awesome fried kabobs with mushrooms. Noct never figured out those were vegetables.”

“Better than when he was _really_ pissed and all you got was near-burnt toast.”

Everyone laughed at that.

“Ignis was a man of refined revenge,” Stasios said, earning noises of agreement from both Prompto and Gladio. “Few could play the game as well as he.” He thought back for a moment about the shampoo bottle, and chuckled softly. “Dearly loved, and dearly missed.” He lifted his glass into the air, watching as the others followed suit. “To Ignis Scientia.”

Various salutes were offered in echo, and they all drank, except for Prompto, who lifted the glass to his lips, kissed the edge, and then turned and spilled his drink to the ground.

Stasios understood, and nodded to the blond with a solemn smile. They all had their own ways of saluting the dead, and that was enough for him.

 

In the years that followed, Prompto had gone out of his way to retrieve a precious letter from the depths of the Insomnian Underground system, bringing it to Stasios and quietly handing it over. He’d known what was in the letter, was tangled up in Stasios’ life far more than the older Kingsglaive could have imagined, ultimately confessing that he’d written the words given to him by Ignis on the darkest night of all. They shared memories, stories, and became as good as friends as any two men who had lived through the Long Night could have become, and they wrote to each other constantly.

But Stasios was never more than acquaintances with Gladio. Stasios understood that, too. Some things were simply too painful, and Stasios knew that he reminded Gladio of many mistakes the man had made, and years of potential memories lost. They never passed more than a few words between themselves when paths crossed in Hammerhead, and Gladio refused to so much as discuss returning to Insomnia. When Prompto had died, that glass raising was the last Stasios had seen of the Shield, and indeed had thought the man gone after one last letter allowing the correspondence between Ignis and Prompto to be published.

And so his belief remained until, years later, Stasios sat in the small room he had reclaimed in the still under reconstruction Citadel. He held an envelope in his hand with a single handwritten address on the outside: _KGL Stasios Teleon, Insomnia, Capital. Private, to be hand delivered as personal._

He broke the seal, pulled out the letter, and in the still of his room, began to read.


	18. Somnus

The dawn was particularly beautiful that morning.

The sky had cleared just after midnight, the stars sparking above the Crown City as if diamonds cast into a deep and endless dark velvet blue. Caelum Blue, they’d named that color. In honor, of course.

The sun rose into the sky, lightening that blue before a flash of green washed over the land, swiftly followed by a golden amber that melted into the purest of blues. Significantly appropriate colors, the witness thought as he stood on a flower-covered cliff side overlooking Insomnia.

He was there, drawn by a letter he had received, a letter written in careful hand, delivered by none other than Talcott Hester. It had been handed over to him with the quiet insistence that he read it only when he’d arrived at this very cliffside.

That had been a week ago, and he was still shaken by the words that had been written within.

 

_Teleon. If you’re reading this, then I’m gone, and the last of us have fallen. Talcott should be handing this to you to read on the cliff where he promised to bury me. If there isn’t a fresh grave, go kick his ass for me. If I’m still alive, let’s both go kick his ass._

_Anyway. You and I didn’t talk much, didn’t have much to keep us connected, and memories are too painful even now. But you deserve to know._

 

_This place where I’ve summoned you, this is the most sacred place in all of Lucis. From the start to the finish, this is where it is._

_Here we learned that Noctis was king._

_Here we said our goodbyes._

_Here we buried our hearts as the first new day burned._

 

_Don’t know what else to write, other than you deserve to know, and I wish I could have told you sooner, to your face. But I’m his Shield. I had to protect him then. All of them. Noctis, Ignis, Prompto, Aranea. My only grief is that we never found Lunafreya. That’s what the flowers are for. Prompto insisted._

_All I ask is that you do what you think is best. I’ve no right to anything else._

_Gladiolus Amicitia_

 

Of course, Stasios had no intention of betraying the secret entrusted to him. He had simply passed on word that the last of the Dawnbringers had gone into that light.

Stasios turned away from the view of Insomnia and the memory of the letter, and turned to the graves. He saluted, hand to chest, bowing low, and then rose slowly as he dropped his arm to his side. He took two steps forward, regarded the fresh grave, and looked to its left. He frowned ever so slightly, closed his eyes, and found himself shifting just a little more to the left. Eyes still closed, he kissed his fingers and then pressed them to the earth below. A hello, a farewell. A promise.

And then he rose and walked away.

 

 

The midday sun was incredibly hot, but Stasios didn’t mind. He was in Scientia Square, looking at the cenotaph as people arrived for the ceremony. He stood in his Kingsglaive uniform, the old black fabric as starched and pressed as if he’d just been signed on. As it had been then, his spine was straight, his shoulders square. Blessed with the hearty genes of Kahd bloodlines, the only way anyone could tell how long he’d been in service was his tightly braided hair now startlingly white against his skin. He’d not been young when Insomnia fell, and yet, it filled his heart that he’d lived to see it rise again despite the hardships and losses.

Scientia Square was a proper park nowadays, even though it would have driven the man it was named after to distraction. It was, after all, round. Cars didn’t drive through anymore, and decorative planters had been installed, then filled with grass and flowers. The cenotaph had been erected in the center, and soon they'd be setting the plaque with Gladiolus’ name into it with metal that would turn dark with time, just as the other names had. 

Noctis’ name faced North and the Citadel proper, and his had been the first name.

To the East, Ignis, for the sun rose in the East, and Prompto had insisted the Advisor’s name be there. “Ignis always rose with the sun,” he’d said.

South was Prompto’s name, Noctis’ counterpart in all things.

Gladiolus’ name would be to the West, guarding against the night and anything that could cause them harm. A Shield to the end. Right now, the space was open, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

The ceremony would be short. There was no body, just a symbolic item to place inside the cenotaph. An ornate shield would join the Crown of Lucis, two intricately carved daggers, and two golden pistols within the interior of the plinth and then it would be sealed and guarded until the end of days.

Recruits vied hard for the honor of guarding the Dawnbringers, for only those glaives who had the honor of standing guard over the cenotaph would carry the elite title of Crownsguard, with Stasios commanding.

He heard the Kingsglaive approaching, and the crowd that had grown fell silent. A quiet melody broke the silence, a choir singing as the shield was presented to Stasios. He took it carefully into gloved hands after saluting it, and then paused so that the honor guard could salute in turn, and then he turned to allow those who had assembled in the square to see the Amicitia Shield in its glory.

Everyone present echoed the salute, and Stasios’ vision was suddenly blurry for tears. He took a deep breath, allowed himself the emotion, and bowed behind the shield before turning to place it within the cenotaph.

His gaze fell on the daggers within the shadowed interior, and he smiled softly, carefully settling the shield in its place. The heavy glass windows in the cenotaph allowed visitors to see the Relics of the Dawnbringers, but only Stasios had the honor of seeing them together without the barrier. 

Stasios released the shield to its new home, saluted the Relics as a whole, and then turned to make way for the plaque-bearer who would set the device in the wall ceremonially. It would be officially sealed soon after the ceremony, a curtain erected to hide the actual work. As with a museum, the reliquary within the cenotaph would be depressurized, the Relics kept safe within a vacuum. Once sealed, the plaque would be permanently installed, the cenotaph complete.

He stepped away from the cenotaph as the crew arrived to put up the curtain, and brushed imaginary dust off of his cuffs. He’d spend a few minutes smiling and chatting with the local dignitaries, and then he’d quietly retreat to the office he’d claimed in the Citadel and finalize the paperwork.

 

Hours later, Stasios closed the wooden door of the office behind him and reveled in the dim quiet and simple comfort of the room. The fact that it had once been Ignis Scientia’s office was not a coincidence in the slightest, and it always made him smile softly when he imagined Ignis at work within these walls.

Even steps took him across carpeted floor and around the dark wood desk, which Stasios always trailed his fingers along in an homage to the man who had once worked here. He sat in the chair, ran his fingers along the arms, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to center his thoughts.

 

The door opened, and a voice called out. “Stasios, do pardon the intrusion, but there’s someone I’ve dearly wanted you to meet.”

Stasios opened his eyes as he rose, and his heart flew.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really a chapter, but something I wanted to share with those of you who loved him.

Stasios Ahn Teleon, as drawn by Albyon

**Author's Note:**

> And thanks to the magic of Comrades, may I introduce you to Stasios Teleon.  
> 


End file.
